Asking For Forgiveness
by Snapescape
Summary: Regulus Arcturus Black is brought to his senses through a terrible event. Deciding to leave the Death Eaters and knowing his days to be numbered, he decides ask his estranged brother Sirius for forgiveness.


**So here's the first chapter of a new fanfiction I'm writing. I'm not planning on it being very long but hopefully, you guys will enjoy it. **

**For me, Regulus is a really under-appreciated character, even hero, in the series. I would have loved to know more about his relationship with his brother and why exactly he decided to leave the Death Eaters. I began writing this fanfiction to try and answer those questions, but my imagination got the best of at times so I realise this probably wouldn't have happened in Jo's novels! Nevertheless, I tried to keep it as credible as possible.**

**NOTE: I tried to remain loyal to the book, but some elements may have been changed for narrative purposes. **

**Enjoy! And don't forget to tell me what you think ;)**

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><p><em>"<strong>You never find yourself until you face the truth." <strong>_**Pearl Bailey**

The weather is dismal. Rain is pouring down from a cold grey sky, soaking me despite my travelling cloak, making my body shudder and my teeth chatter. I force my freezing hands deeper into the pockets of my cloak, hoping to somehow get some warmth back into them and get them moving again, but I know it's a long lost cause. Theirs is no sign of a stop to the downpour. I can hear a rumbling noise fast approaching which means it's going to get even worse. And, to tell you the truth, I feel like I deserve it. The biting feeling I'm getting all over my exposed face. The hopeless shivering all the way up my spine. The numbness that the freezing rain has brought to my hands and feet. It's like I'm finally being punished for what I have done. It's something which has been long coming but nevertheless, it has come at last.

Despite the abusive weather and my useless attempts to keep them at bay, the images keep flitting back into my brain. Blue gazeless eyes. Pale heart-shaped face. Pool of blood. Image after image, annihilating every other feeling. It hurts so much. I could only describe it like my heart being ripped out of my chest. I think I am crying but I can't be sure because of the rain. I can't remember the last time I cried. I don't even know if I have ever wept properly. I've been such a cruel, heartless bastard. Now, I feel like my body is screaming. But still the images keep coming, and I'm powerless to stop them.

My feet carry me across a small wooden bridge over the deepening river. The water is agitated and it is flowing fast. I make my way into the grisly town where I now live. I keep my gaze securely on my feet as they slush through the mud and pebbles, up winding roads and by desolate houses. If there are faces staring at me through the filthy windows, watching me sloping away in the raging storm, or even taunting my desolate figure, I'm not aware of them. And I don't care about letting them have it, not like I used to. I am changed now. I, Regulus Arcturus Black.

I knew when I had signed up, only 2 years ago, that I would witness sightings like today. Tortures and killings. It was, after all, a normal working day for a Death Eater and above all, unquestionably expected. It was your duty. I remember how thirsty I was to prove myself when I first joined them and how much I wanted to follow him and to learn from him. I didn't ask questions, I just obeyed every single one his orders. Sometimes I was conscious of enjoying it. What's more, I believed everything he said, naïve as hell. His word was law and none of us dared or even thought to contradict him. He told us we were helping to build a better world and restoring purebloods to their rightful place. Everyone else, muggles, mudbloods, blood traitors, they could be spared, as most were. How proud mummy and daddy were to have their beloved favourite son in amongst the clan. The elite clan, that's what it felt like. How it sickens me to think of it now.

A flash of a beautiful smile and dancing blue eyes and I clumsily trip over an overlapping stone in the road. I fall hard against the wet muddy ground and I feel something painfully dig into my chest. Her necklace. I take it out of the soaking pocket, and firmly clasp my hand on the succession of burgundy beads, sending a rush of images through my mind, each one more painful than the precedent. As I force myself back up and start walking through the dim alleyways towards where I live, I run my fingers over the smooth round surfaces. This time I can feel the hot tears as they burn my eyes.

I had no idea she would have such an effect on me. I remember the first time I laid eyes on her, back on the platform at King's Cross. It was September 1st; I was waiting to board the Hogwarts Express for the very first time. She was talking to some other girls, and I remember thinking how she stood out from all of them.

There was something about her. She seemed different. I liked how her whole face lit up when she laughed and how she inadvertently kept pulling a loose strand of blonde hair behind her delicate ear. At that moment, I knew she was one of the most beautiful girls I had ever seen, and I hadn't seen many. In fact, up until then, my days had been spent cooped up in the Black House, sharing my time between reading about the Dark Arts from forbidden books in my bedroom and absorbing information from the elders about the importance of maintaining the "toujours pur" motto. But, on the contrary to what some may think, it wasn't love at first sight. Hell, I don't believe in all that. However I was attracted to her and I had never experienced anything like that before (nor have I since). I was scared about my feelings. Desire. And she was out of bounds. A half-blood Ravenclaw. Not good enough for my standards, that's why my friends said. And I thought them right too. So I tried to forget about the pretty blonde girl. A feet easier said than done.

In my 5th year, we were teamed up to work on a project in potions class. I would talk to her when we were chopping up gurdyroots or carefully slicing boomslang skin. It was mindless chatter about the concoction we were brewing but the lessons offered an excuse to speak to her. I could talk to her without being suspected by my proud friends. Outside of the dungeons, I hardly ever spoke to her. The only time I really got to know her intimately was on Christmas Eve of that same year, with a little help from Felix Felicis. On that snowy evening, I made love to her in the Room of Requirement, on the seventh floor. That blissful evening, she was mesmerizing in every way. No one ever knew about it though. It was our secret.

But despite this, there was always that nagging feeling that I shouldn't have been mixing with her, the wrong sort, and that fear of the looks on my friends' faces. I tried reminding myself where my priorities lay. I was planning on joining the Death Eaters the following year, for goodness sake! She was just a distraction. Back then, I forced myself to think of her like that. A distraction from the scary wanderings of my mind as I delved through book after book from the Restricted Section of the library. A beautiful distraction from my infatuation with the Dark Arts.

Over the summer, before I was to go into my 6th year at Hogwarts, I was reminded day after day of the importance of the upcoming year. I was walked through exactly how I should act and what I should say when I was called to the Dark Lord for that all important meeting. Constantly. My parents would explain in detail the importance of keeping up the family prestige. They were of course eager to see me join them alongside Lord Voldemort. And so was I. I didn't know it, but I was already preparing for the unavoidable parting.

The following year, she transferred to Beaux-Bâtons in France. I lost something when she left. Was it my last shred of compassion, of feeling, of love? I don't know exactly but by spring, I had moved on to other things. Dark things. At least I always thought I had, it seems now that she never really left me, that she was always there, in the back of my mind, engraved in my memory. I stored the feelings away because they were inappropriate for a boy of my aspiration and all I thought I wanted was to follow in the steps of my successful cousin Bellatrix. How well she had done for herself.

I weave my way in and out of alleyways. Freezing, my feet still seem intent on getting me back on dry ground. I'm clutching the necklace too tightly and it's digging into my skin. I want it too. I want to feel pain for what I have done. I can see her face in the puddles on the gloomy streets, in the cracks of the decrepit walls, in the windows of the filthy houses. Everywhere.

Her death was unnecessary. I know it and so does the Dark Lord. Her husband, another half-blood whom she met at the French school, had been seen giving a mudblood some stale bread one cold evening when he was foolishly begging for mercy at their window. The word got around and eventually, it reached Royle's ears. Royle had joined the Death Eaters the same year as I had and he was just as keen as I was to impress Lord Voldemort. So he passed on the information about the blood traitor directly to him. The husband was found dead the following morning. She managed to get away and survived for a few weeks before the snatchers tracked her down in a wooden shack on the Kent marshes. We were four, including the Leader himself, to swoop down on her this morning and punish her for her "disobedience". Up until Royle blasted down the front door, I had no idea who we were dealing with.

I briefly register that I've arrived in front of a grimy façade with one window on the top floor. Home. Zombie-like, I unlock the door with a brief flick of my wand and make my way into the foul house. I collapse into the first moth-eaten divan as the last expressions on her stunning face continue to replay in my mind.

It was unusual for the Dark Lord to deal with such a minor issue as this one. He usually saved himself for the torture or the killing of more important dissidents, like important Ministry workers or the very rare member of the Order of the Phoenix. But sometimes, whether it was through boredom or something which I began to feel was pure evil, he just couldn't pass up on the opportunity of having a bit of "fun". Today was one of those opportunities. As he tortured the young woman before us, relishing in her squirms and her gut-wrenching screams, I remembered thinking how oddly familiar her voice sounded, although horribly distorted, and the shape of her face looked. She was dirty and her hair was mucky from having lived rough since being on the run. This made it near impossible to clearly make out her facial features. It was when her bright blue eyes found mine through her agony and she held hopelessly held my gaze that I realised who she was. Rose Delaney.

And then came the flood of memories, accompanying her suddenly dreadful screams for mercy. Every word was directed at me. Shouting my name. Royle and the two others had joined in the fun and they were all shouting for me to have a go, like it was all just a game and there wasn't an innocent human being under excruciating pain before their eyes. The Dark Lord understood that she had some kind of connection to me when she began shouting my name and when I didn't move, he ordered for me to kill her. But how could I? I had killed so many times before, effortlessly, but this was different. I knew this woman. I was horrified. Then came an irritated cry, a burst of green light and she was gone. Seconds later, I felt the most painful tearing, hammering, ripping in all my limbs as I fell to the floor beside her. My muscles were on fire. I thought I was going to die right then, in that awful shack, by her dead body. However, just as suddenly as it had begun, the pain stopped. I had been put under the cruciatus curse for failing to obey his orders. I was lucky to even be alive. The next thing I knew, the Dark Lord's face was inches from my own as he hissed menacingly:

"Don't forget who you are, Regulus". And then he was gone. The others disapparated shortly after him and I was left with her.

I can't bear it. I can't bear to think of how pathetic she looked, how oddly her shape was twisted on the filthy floor. I'm aware that I am sobbing now, gulping for air as I remember how soft her skin felt beneath that layer of dirt, as I stroked her delicate face. And those dead eyes ... I unfastened her beaded necklace, the only vestige of her old life, kissed her forehead, and got out of there. I got out because otherwise, I know I would have fallen apart.

I can see clearly now. It's like I have awakened from a long dream and I can finally see the truth. I can see past the lies, the deceits and the fabrications. The evil belief that I so firmly fought for. I can see that my actions were never justified. I can see that I killed and tortured people only because they were in his way, because they were standing up for what they believed to be right. Or because they were born from different parents. Pureblood, halfblood, mudblood, what does it matter? How could it ever have really mattered to me?

And now that all this has finally hit me, I think of my brother. Sirius always knew this. For years I shunned him, pretended that he wasn't even related to me because of the disgrace he had brought to our prestigious family name. A Gryffindor in the Slytherin house of Black? It was outrageous. It shocked us all. But my brother never gave in to our way of thinking. He stood his ground. He was strong-willed. He believed that we wrong in our narrow-minded, cruel convictions. He preferred running away rather than having to live with us. And when he did, I was glad to see the back of him. I selfishly thought that now I would be able to receive all the attention. I didn't even care what happened to him. I didn't try to find out where he went or where he lived. My very own brother! It pains me, like everything else, to think of how I acted. I was blinded by them all, I was corrupted.

Beautiful Rose Delaney died because Lord Voldemort chose to kill her. Innocent Rose Delaney died because he wanted some entertainment. Her death could have been avoided. Like all the rest. But it wasn't. She had done nothing wrong and yet she was punished.

And now, above the hurt, the sorrow, the pain, there is anger. There is hatred. I am furious against him for all the families he tore up. He is soulless. But he stole my soul. And for that, he will pay. For murdering Rose Delaney, he will pay. For his unaccountable acts of evil, he will pay. I know now that I have to put an end to Lord Voldemort.

And I know that I have to ask my estranged brother for forgiveness.


End file.
